Reunion
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: <html><head></head>Betrothal 13: In which Squalo is reunited with his boss. Squalo, Xanxus; AU; genderswap.</html>


**Title:** Reunion**  
>Characters:<strong> Squalo, Xanxus**  
>Summary:<strong> In which Squalo is reunited with his boss.**  
>Notes:<strong> Part of Choice: The Betrothal Arc. General audiences. 1233 words.

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><p><strong>Reunion<strong>

If there were anything about his job Squalo didn't particularly care for, it was the paperwork and the part where he had to report in at the main house at the end of missions like a dog on a leash. The Ninth got softer the older he got, or maybe he could just see his own mortality staring him the face every time Squalo sat across from him and told him what the Varia had done this time. Squalo hoped that he thought about it, anyway. He sure thought about the Ninth's mortality a lot, himself, every time he asked whether it wasn't time for them to bring the boss home already and the old man put him off with another _not yet, but soon_.

He was going to push the old man this time, he decided as he made his way through the halls of the main house after putting paid to the Tirabassi and their little extortion scheme. It'd been a year, for Chrissake, and the old man had been stalling long enough. It was past time for him to end the boss's exile. Thaw him out. Whatever.

The house felt like it was humming—he couldn't help noticing, not with the way people were clustered everywhere he turned, talking in low voices. Squalo pretended to ignore them—had the Macrini finally decided to move against them?—but if they had, that was just one more reason to get the boss back as soon as possible, so they'd have someone who'd put his foot down about the people who thought they could get away with trying to slice off little chunks of Vongola territory for their own.

He booted open the Ninth's door with as much ceremony as ever, which was to say none at all, and strode in. "So we wiped out the—" was about as far as he got before what he was seeing cut his words off altogether.

Xanxus was sitting in the old man's seat, one cheek covered with a bandage, with folders and papers spread out in front of him. The Ninth's right hand and Rain were both on hand; Staffieri looked constipated and Martelli looked faintly amused, which was all just normal enough to make the whole thing completely bizarre.

Xanxus was staring at him, and he looked—lost—for a second, which was not an expression Squalo could recall having ever seen on his boss's face before, even if he looked pretty much the same as Squalo remembered him otherwise. "Squalo," he said, slowly, like he was testing out the syllables. Or he wasn't sure.

"Boss," Squalo breathed out, one part of him cursing that shitty old man for pulling a fast one on him and another grudgingly admitting that it had worked pretty well.

Martelli stood. "I'm going to go see if I can find that file on the Cetrulli," he said. "Gianni, come help me."

Staffieri just looked more constipated over that, but he rose too and the two of them left the room. Squalo ignored them both, because Xanxus hadn't stopped staring at him the whole time, hadn't even acknowledged them. "You…" he started, but didn't finish.

Squalo crossed the distance from the door to the desk in three long strides, coming around the corner of it to go to his knees. "Boss." Xanxus' hand was right there, curled loosely around a pen. Squalo took it and pressed his forehead to it, too dizzy to do anything else, because Xanxus' hand was warm, it was _real_ and smelled faintly of some kind of ointment under the gauze wrapped around it. "Boss, you're back."

"Squalo." This time Xanxus sounded more sure of himself. He dropped his free hand on Squalo's skull—no, he was raking his fingers through his hair. "Fucking hell. Your hair."

He didn't sound like he was feeling volatile, so Squalo lifted his head from Xanxus' hand. "Told you I wasn't going to cut it till you were boss." It came out breathless, more wobbly than he'd meant it to be, and Xanxus was still looking at him like he'd been poleaxed.

"You're—" Xanxus stopped and shook his head like he was trying to clear it. He looked down at Squalo, gripping his hair, which ached a little. Not that Squalo was going to complain. "It was eight years. Really eight years. I didn't actually believe it till now."

"I'm sorry, Boss. Couldn't get you out any faster than that." Squalo winced, though Xanxus still sounded—blank, not anything else. "Did my best, though." And fuck the Ninth for dragging his feet, fuck the Cetrulli for taking so long on Massimo, fuck Massimo and Enrico's slow war of attrition. Fuck them all for stealing so much time.

"You…" Xanxus loosened his grip on Squalo's hair, ran his fingers through the length of it instead. His breathing was turning fast, unsteady, which made Squalo tense just a bit as he wondered whether he was going to need to duck here in a minute. But Xanxus wound a hank of hair around his fist, holding onto it like it was a lifeline. "You couldn't—you didn't know he was going to—I could have been down there forever."

Squalo shook his head as much as he was able. "No, Boss. I wasn't going to let that happen."

Xanxus' eyes were still wide. "You… he was right," he said, elliptical. Squalo waited, but Xanxus didn't say any more than that. Well, no matter.

He waited for Xanxus to emerge from wherever it was that he'd gone inside his head; when it seemed like he was going to go on thinking all morning, Squalo cleared his throat. "So what do you want me to do, Boss?" He wasn't wearing the ring yet, and the house wasn't freaking out—was the Ninth out of the way yet or not? He chanced a guess. "I can have the Varia moving in ten minutes, whenever you need them."

That pulled Xanxus back from whatever precipice he was looking over. He shook his head. "Not going to need that. Going to be Tenth after him." He stopped on that, and yeah, Squalo would have expected him to look at least a little triumphant about that, not—confused. Let alone worried. Like he'd just been handed a winning lottery ticket but didn't know what he was supposed to do about it.

Well. At least there was one thing they could do. "Whatever you say, Boss." He smiled up at Xanxus, encouraging. "So he named you his heir?" Not _after all_, not _in spite of_, never that, not with the boss. "That's why you're sitting here?"

"The ring trial… exhausted him." Xanxus' words were slow, unsure, but clear enough. Squalo whistled, softly, instead of giving in to the urge to shout—the old man had put Xanxus through the trial already? He was _serious_ about this. "He's resting. Wouldn't go till there was someone to oversee things."

"Makes sense," Squalo allowed, though actually it didn't, because it suggested that Xanxus was overseeing things, that the Ninth trusted him enough to throw him in at the deep end. With Staffieri and Martelli to keep an eye on things, sure, but—huh. Something strange was going on.

But it didn't matter now. He had his boss back, right where he was supposed to be. Nothing else mattered beyond that.

**end**

And that's what there is of this arc so far; more to come as soon as the muses cough it up and the semester releases its steely grip.

Comments are lovely!


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